


Iron and Lead

by Megan



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dark, Injury, M/M, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/pseuds/Megan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the end of the Phantom Thief arc from a slightly different point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron and Lead

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE BLINKING WARNING FOR KINKING ON INJURY AND THE FETISHIZATION OF VIOLENCE HERE. Just in case the tags and characters involved didn't make it clear enough. (And in case anyone reading here isn't familiar with the fandom involved, there might also be potential possession/body horror and self-mutilation squicks herein. They're kind of implicit to the characters involved, but if you're reading without knowing the fandom I'd like the warning to be here.)

It's not exactly comfortable having someone else in his head at the best of times, and it doesn't help that the Fourteenth has a fascination for things that would make Cross Marian raise an eyebrow. Most of the time it's annoying but bearable, a constant prickle at the back of his mind he can ignore or faint snatches of a song he might have played on the Ark once upon a time. But those few times he does come out and assert his presence, he's dark and strange but not _wrong_. That might even be the worst part-- if he were alien, something foreign and painful, Allen would be able to grit his teeth and ignore him. But no, it rises in him like the most natural thing in the world until he's the one in control instead of Allen and he almost doesn't notice until it's too late.

He notices this time, though, and Allen isn't sure if this is the worst possible time for the Fourteenth to show his face or the _best_; terrifying bastard or not, Allen could use his extra edge right about now. The last time he fought a level four akuma, he had the combined might of the entire Order behind him; this time he has only Kanda and Marie who, while certainly more than competent, are hardly the same thing as four Generals attacking in concert. And this akuma doesn't have a mission like the other one, no Noah reining it in and keeping it on task for a purpose; this one is here only to kill every single exorcist it can before turning its cherub-faced carnage onto the innocent people of the town. That's the _only_ reason he doesn't immediately try to quash the Fourteenth as best he can; perhaps he knows something that will be of use. _Anything_.

Anything at all, really, because now there are bullets flying and if that keeps up much longer the only one of them left standing will be Kanda. ...he hopes, anyway. Will Kanda heal from the akuma virus if he's hit? He has to, he heals from anything. And that's the wrong thing to think, because that piques the Fourteenth's interest. Jump, dodge, parry, swing-- he ignores the Fourteenth's next train of thought by throwing himself into the fight, until there's a shout and Marie is wrapping his wires around his own fingers. He's lucky, the luckiest man alive just then, because he's been hit in a place he _can_ amputate and save his life. That catches the Fourteenth's attention, the silent slice of razor wire through bone and the sudden well of blood and it's hard enough to tear his attention away when Kanda-- _Kanda, you complete idiot_\-- charges in heedless of the hail of bullets.

He's on the ground, shirt shredded and chest little better, in a matter of seconds. _Get up, get up, get up--_

And he does. Rolls over onto his hands and knees, choking up blood as bullets fall out of his wounds and hit the cobblestones in a clinking rain of lead. It gets in his hair, runs down onto his chin, and he wipes it away with one battered hand as he struggles to stand up and get his balance back. The akuma hasn't noticed him yet, intent instead on Allen and Marie because it thinks Kanda is dead. (Well, he was, to be brutally fair. To be perhaps more accurate, the akuma thinks Kanda will not _get better_ from being dead.) But Allen notices, and oh, the Fourteenth notices. Notices in a way that makes Allen distinctly uncomfortable, to be precise, notices the bruises being pushed to the pavement with the force of automatic fire have left on Kanda, the knitting and scabbing gashes that flash beneath the tatters of his shirt and coat, the oddly untouched spill of his hair that hasn't even fallen down from the cord holding it back. And that's a small favor if there ever was one, because the only thing the Fourteenth would find more fascinating just then was a battered, bloody Kanda with his hair everywhere.

_I wonder if he likes it_, comes the awful, unbidden thought that has to be the Fourteenth's because it certainly couldn't ever be Allen's. _It would be such a waste if he didn't_.

That's the point when Allen shoves his sword through _both_ of them. He's burning himself nearly as much as he is the akuma and the monster knows it, mocks him for it, but he holds it in place. It makes the Fourteenth retreat back in his head, step down--

\--until Kanda is there behind the akuma, beautiful and battered and gritting his teeth in pain, the blotches on his face and neck already nearly as dark as his hair. They'll hurt if Allen puts his hands on them, maybe he'll hiss like he won't let himself do now (the Fourteenth _isn't_ gone after all, not by a long shot, because that's not Allen and never will be). If he reached forward just a little, around the akuma, he could press his palms to Kanda's chest and watch the look on his face--

"_Good morning_," the akuma whispers to the Fourteenth, innocent recognition and unmitigated glee on its face. It starts to say something else, but then Kanda's sword splits its head right in half. Kanda knows that smirk isn't Allen's, and his split lips twist into a sneer that has to pull on rapidly-healing scabs painfully. Blood wells up when the twist of his mouth finally takes the scabs further than they were meant to go and they split again. He _must_ like it, because it would be so easy to stop; Allen Walker had better get used to it, because if he's right-- and he usually is-- it's going to get pretty damn hard for the kid to ignore.

Kanda stares at him from over the akuma's body, both swords still pinning it to the wall. The scab on his lip closes again, the last drop of blood beading down and dripping onto his collar. He does not, however, reach over and sink his fingers down onto Kanda's still-healing skin with all the pressure he can; that's something he wants _Allen_ to do. It will be more fun that way.

It _is_ a good morning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Iron and Lead by Megan [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099826) by [Rhea314 (Rhea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Rhea314)




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